Never Meant
by Brievel
Summary: She never meant for her future to take the twists it did.
1. Chapter 1

She never meant to be caught by Darth Vader, studying his starfighter, at age twelve. She never meant to become his protege, his pet pilot. She never meant to sneer at and ignore the stormtroopers as inferior beings. She never meant to pass out in the middle of a space battle, the deaths overloading her Force-sensitivity and her senses. She never meant to be captured by the Rebels, or to form a camaraderie with the Rogues. She never meant to have mock firefights with Rogue Squadron, chasing them - and being chased by them - all around the base. She never meant to make deals with Han Solo, helping fix the Falcon in exchange for someone to watch her back during the faux battles. She never meant to return to the Empire via the catastrophe on Hoth, and she never meant to fake her own death and defect to the Rebellion in the next battle. She never meant to fall in love with the Rogues, leading them on for two years before being forced to make her decision. She never meant to friend-zone Hobbie and Wedge, nor to marry Wes and bear his son.

But then, we don't mean to do most of what we do in our lives.


	2. Chapter 2

She did not even hear the loud breathing behind her, for a good fifteen minutes, until he spoke. "What are you doing?" She jumped as though shot, spinning to see the terrifying figure, dreaded by all the crew, standing scarcely a meter away. Her knees knocked together beneath the long skirts her father insisted she wear as her fear overwhelmed her. The stormtroopers and pilots scattered around the bay all looked up at their leader's words, watching the drama unfolding. None of them liked having a twelve-year-old girl underfoot, but they could not dismiss their commanding officer's daughter.

"Lord Vader," she gasped, petrified.

"What are you doing at my starfighter?" he repeated, his arms crossed.

"L-looking," she stammered, her fear rendering her almost speechless.

"Looking does not involve running your hands over the outside panels," he replied tonelessly, and she paled further. She had seen the black-clad cyborg strangle crewmembers with his invisible hand, and now stood waiting in trepidation for it to close around her throat. Therefore his next question caught her by surprise. "What do you know about starfighters?"


	3. Chapter 3

She strode through the hallways, ignoring the white-armored troopers around her. Boring, mindless, shallow, obedient, she could not stand them. Her tone, when she was forced to speak to one, was always civil, polite, but cool and aloof. She was a pilot, Darth Vader's pet pilot, the one he hand-picked and hand-trained, and they were merely lackeys, expendable cannonfodder. She was the ace, they, pathetic and replaceable infantry.


	4. Chapter 4

Her well-aimed cannon bolts sizzled through space, taking out Rebel pilot after Rebel pilot. Her headache grew worse with every hit, fuzziness closing around her brain in ever-tightening constriction. Static took over her vision as she slumped forward onto her consoles.


	5. Chapter 5

When she awoke, she was being lifted out of a crumpled TIE, lowered to a gurney with frighteningly solid straps. Her disinterested gaze dwelt on it for scarcely a second, flitting to the battered X-wings in the hangar. Hunger shown in her eyes - here, _here_ were starfighters worth flying, ships that could absorb hit after hit and keep their pilot alive. Her master had never known of her secret lust to get behind the controls of a Rebel fighter.

One of her captors noticed her gaze. "No ideas of sabotage, now," he warned jovially.

She staggered a little as she stood on her own two feet, laying a hand on her totalled TIE for balance. "I would never," she replied casually, her gaze glued to the fighter. "I could destroy the pilot without blinking an eye but the ship herself..."

"Wanna come look?" Wes offered, pasting on his most charming grin. The stunning Imperial pilot flashed him a quick startled glance, then smiled, relaxing.

"I'd love to."


	6. Chapter 6

A slim piece of rolled paper hit her upper left arm. Things had been slow, over the last month, so she had introduced the Rogues to a favorite pastime of the stormtroopers - modifying their blasters to shoot rolled paper bullets. Having refused to give information on the Empire, or defect, but also doing nothing to harm the Rebel cause, she had been given a sort of parole and spent all her time flirting with Rogue Squadron - or shooting at them. And very occasionally, being shot by them. She had always been a pilot, but since becoming a prisoner, her aim with a blaster had improved drastically. Rebel command tolerated the games, seeing as they gave bored flying aces something to do and target practice. It helped that most the mock battles were held in the hangar.

She dove behind Wedge's X-wing, firing a few cover shots before leaping up into the astromech slot to shouts of surprise and admiration. Her 'wounded' arm hampered her, though, and at a shout of "She's gonna blow!" leapt out again. She staggered upon hitting the floor, dodging the rain of altogether non-lethal bullets before darting behind a crate. Being the only Imperial, it was often her against all of Rogue Squadron, and while she held her own valiantly the outcome was always inevitable. Han, being an unaffiliated smuggler, was on only his own side, taking potshots at Imperial and Rebels alike.

So she did not expect him to duck behind the crate with her, wearing his cocky grin. "I've got a deal proposal for ya," he announced in an undertone.

She eyed him warily. "Oh?"

"I've heard that you know everything there is to know about starships," he muttered, glancing towards the Falcon.

"Not everything," she replied modestly. "But a great deal, yes."

"So, you come help me fix the Falcon, in return, I'll guard your back for three days," he offered.

She glanced down at her 'wounded arm.' "And medical supplies for my wound," she added challengingly.

"As you wish," he replied slickly.

"Done," she muttered, risking a glance over the top of the crate, ducking back from a hail of ammo.

"On three." Han checked the route as well. "Three!"

They cut and ran for the lowered ramp, exchanging blaster paper fire with the dug-down Rebels. "Shields up, Solo!" she yelled as their boots hit the ramp, and spun, shooting the enemy bullets from the air. Princess Leia, wandering through the hangar, grabbed a blaster from a shocked Rogue and joined the shoot-out.

"Shields are up!" Solo bellowed down to her, and she scampered inside as the ramp closed.


	7. Chapter 7

She would stay awake at nights, tuning in and listening to the Imperial channels on the handheld comm she'd swiped, conflict growing in her. Her loyalties were to the Empire that had raised her from an infant, the law and order and justice in the galaxy. Yet how could she doom her Rogues - her rascally, dirty-minded, high-spirited, fun-filled, trigger-happy, darling Rogues - to the tortuous death they would certainly receive at the hands of the Empire? And so every night, she shut off the comm without saying anything, either giving the base location to her masters or informing the Alliance leaders of Imperial plans.


	8. Chapter 8

It was the middle of yet another mock battle when the Klaxons started blaring, red emergency lights flashing. The snowy walls began shaking under the inpouring of Imperial fire. Alarmed Rogues ran for their starfighters, emergency evacuation craft blasting out past the AT-ATs. Terrified Rebels fled the white-clad troopers intent on their death. No one noticed one lone female crouched behind a crate, watching the chaos in bitter shock.

When Darth Vader entered the abandoned Rebel base, his long-missing favorite pilot stood in the middle of the hangar. As he entered the vast room, she knelt before him, bowing her head in subservience.


	9. Chapter 9

A month later, the Empire and the Alliance's elite squadron were facing off again. She had spent the time familiarizing herself with her new TIE Defender, all its little quirks and glitches. Yet though she was back home, on the Executor, surrounded by the old familiar TIE fighters, where she was raised, something was missing, something felt wrong.

She slid into her new fighter - despite the month she'd had to learn it, it did not fit her as her old one had, it was not an extension of her mind and body - and lifted out in formation with the other pilots, most of them stormtroopers trained to fly. Her soul felt heavy and bitter, like a dense burnt object that hadn't quite disintegrated into ash, and the taste of it coated her mouth. She ignored her unease and depression, peeling out into the dogfight, yet now she had trouble firing. Before, they were just the Rebel scum, lowlifes and criminals, who wanted to destroy the rightful government. Now she knew them by name, had teased and flirted and played with them, and every Rebel death was a blaster bolt to her heart.

Then she came close, too close, to one of the X-wings, close enough to see through the transparisteel canopy, and her stomach rose into her throat. She knew that face, behind that helmet - how often had she seen it? - but he didn't know what she looked like in her Imperial helmet. Her lips formed his name, _Wedge_, as plasma from his guns stitched the infinitesimally small space between them, and her auto-pilot instincts took over, barrel-rolling her away from the blood-colored destruction.

Static crackled over her speakers, demanding a report, why had she let the Rebel live? Her voice replied for her, high and panicked, the lie seamless - she'd lost control of steering, she was going down, _NOOOOOOO_... Her body took over the lie, her fighter juddering and shying, as her mind reeled at her subconscious decision. She crashed to the Rebel cruiser, as soon as the Imperials lost visual of her the fighter was once again under her complete control and she leapt out into one of the shield-protected bays as her former Defender crashed harmlessly into the cruiser's shields and exploded.

She picked herself up off the bay floor, panting for breath, to meet the eyes of startled flight maintenance crews. "Take me to see Princess Leia," she gasped.


	10. Chapter 10

The Alliance command turned in surprise as the door whooshed open and an opposing pilot they all knew stumbled into the room. "Leia," she demanded breathlessly. "Get me into an X-wing!"

"So you can go up there and kill us with our own fighters?" Admiral Ackbar demanded in outrage. "Never!"

"No," she denied, her words slightly incoherent in her rush, her pleading gaze fixed on the startled but sympathetic Princess. "You don't understand - my boys, they're up there _dying_ \- they need me, I can help, I can't just let them be exterminated-"

Leia pressed a compassionate hand to her shoulder. "We cannot just let you have a fighter," she said gently. "I believe you, but you must understand, you are an Imperial pilot, and there is entrance protocol, motivation examinations..." At the eloquent despair and fear on the other's face, she added, "Stay up here in Command, at least you'll know what's going on..."


	11. Chapter 11

When Wes Janson stepped out of his X-wing after the Imperials' retreat, a black leather blur sped across the hangar to throw her arms around him with a sharp cry. "Wes!"

"What are you doing here?" he demanded happily, hugging her back.

"They never like the men with the droid parts," Hobbie grumbled, sliding down the ladder.

"Oh Hobbie," she said affectionately, giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

Tycho opened his arms. "What about me?" he asked with a grin.

She eyed him primly. "You're married," she answered reservedly.

"Just a hug," he suggested devilishly, then picked her up and swung her around once when she agreeably complied.

"What _are_ you doing here?" Wedge echoed with a grin, one hand resting on his fighter.

She beamed, pretending not to notice when Wes' arm snaked familiarly around her waist. "The Empire talks a good game, but they can't walk the walk. My place is here."


	12. Chapter 12

Luke sensed, more than heard, the sound behind him, and turned from his father's crackling funeral pyre, smiling in greeting to the young woman hanging back a few meters. At the warmth of the young Jedi's expression, she came closer, gazing regretfully at the black-clad man amidst the fire. "I feel bad, you know, for betraying him," she murmured. "He was very cruel, at times, yet he never struck out at me in any way. He taught me everything worthwhile that I knew, and I abandoned him..."

"There was still good in him," Luke murmured, turning back to the blazing pyre.

She nodded, her eyes watering a little from the thin smoke. "Yes," she murmured back, watching the leaping flames. "I'm glad he found it ere the end."


	13. Chapter 13

"You can't keep leading us along like this, you know," Hobbie said reproachfully where she and her three favorite Rogues sat on the picnic blanket. "It's been nearly three years since Endor, it's time to make a decision."

She looked guiltily down at the sandwich in her hand. "I know," she said disconsolately. "I've been so selfish. But I can't bear to lose any of you..."

"Well, if all three of us were dangling from the edge of a cliff, and you could only save one, who would you save?" Wes asked cheerfully.

She gave him a pathetically reproving look. "I'd figure out some way to save all of you!"

"Give her a break," Wedge said lazily, lying back and basking in the sun. "She'll decide in her own good time."


	14. Chapter 14

"Derek," she said proudly, in answer to the general query about their day-old son's name. "Oh, stop sulking, Hobbie, it's a perfectly good name," she added teasingly.

"He's quite the scoundrel already," Tycho remarked, tickling the attentive child under the chin.

"He's got his father's eyes," the beaming mother observed fondly.


	15. Chapter 15

She smiled happily down at the flimsi copy of their week-old son's birth certificate, her eyes tracing the words inscribed thereon: **Derek Lukas Janson**. She had never meant to become involved in a Rebellion and fall in love with a band of high-flying headache-inducing heroes, to marry one of them and bear his son before their first year of marriage was out, to betray the father-figure in her life and her actual father in order to do so, but then...

...but then, we were really never meant to control our own destinies, were we?


End file.
